


the little thickness of the coin.

by furies



Category: House M.D.
Genre: Community: femslash08, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-24
Updated: 2008-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-05 04:43:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/furies/pseuds/furies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She kissed a girl, and she liked it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the little thickness of the coin.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [semirose](https://archiveofourown.org/users/semirose/gifts).



> many many thanks to fox1013 and girlboymusic for everything. all mistakes are mine. i wanted this to be a story more about thirteen, but man, amber really is a bitch. title borrowed from e.e. cummings.

She will always call her “Thirteen,” despite having pulled her file the fourth week of House’s joyous hiring process. (Amber would have gotten to it sooner, but House had a combination lock on the file drawer – of course – and it took her a while to convince Dr. Cameron that House really asked her to get a file, but that she forgot the number, and obviously couldn’t go back and ask for it again. Dr. Wilson didn’t fall for it, and that added an extra week. But after appealing to Dr. Cameron’s feminist and ambitious side, as well as claiming a life was on the line, she was given the number code. Amber was known as Cutthroat Bitch for a reason, and frankly, she didn’t care.)

The file only told her a last name, and her current location. Oh, and the big, scribble in House’s handwriting – “Bisexual!!!!”. She slammed the drawer shut in frustration and searched the office again. Feeling along the walls, Amber started rapping her knuckles along the wall. There was a hollow sound, the kind that she only saw when she watched re-runs of Dragnet late at night. She pressed the corners, and sure enough, a little spring popped. Amber actually clapped her hands with delight, until she pulled the door open and saw the piece of paper taped there.

“Nice try, Bitch. But three strikes and you’re OUT!!”

Amber slammed the wall door shut, quite irritated with herself and the fact that House seemed to have a serious problem overusing exclamation points.

Then she thought a bit and realized what little she had learned could still work to her advantage. She just had to get the timing right.

*

“So,” Amber says, right after Thirteen killed the guy and his dog, “You want to grab a drink?”

Thirteen just glares at her.

“What?” Amber asks, making sure to add a bit of hurt to her tone. “We were both in the room.”

“Yeah, but I diagnosed him. I was supposed to give him the pills. I had his life in my hands – and with the solution – and I dropped it. Literally.”

“Don’t forget the dog,” Amber adds helpfully. She realizes a moment too late that no one is around to watch this part of the competition unfold. “Okay, I’m sorry. That was rude.”

“Wouldn’t expect anything more from you. You are the Cutthroat Bitch.”

Amber smiles internally. She likes her nickname. Better than a stupid number, an unlucky number at that. And definitely better than Big Love. Amber’s just always been clear that she’s fighting in a man’s world, and that means people don’t like her, for stupid reasons.

Well, and because she IS a bitch. But she’s okay with that. Bitch is the new black, and she’s been supporting Hillary since her first Senate run. Women like them, they needed to stick together. Anyway, Amber realizes she’ll have to be a little more straight-forward with Thirteen here and her Bambi eyes. Or at least, appear straight-forward.

“Look,” she tries again. “We’re the only women left. One of us has to make it, because of gender discrimination lawsuits.”

Thirteen gives something like a snort. “Let me guess, you’ve had a lot of experience with that.” Amber just ignores her.

“What can it hurt? Really. We can swap stories, have a few drinks-”

“Share secrets and paint each other’s nails? Really, I thought you did your research.”

You have no idea, Amber thinks. “I did. I know you’re the most secretive out of all of us. I know you’re hiding something that I might care about not knowing if I also didn’t know that you just killed a man and his guide dog, and this is probably the last time I’ll see you before you are fired. Leaving me the sole female, meaning I’m all but guaranteed a spot on the team.” She smiles, her canines showing. “Being a woman in a man’s world is great sometimes, isn’t it?”

Thirteen stares at her. It’s a little unnerving if Amber were going to be honest. Piercing eyes, piercing blue and grey and green and just staring. But Amber knows that House is nothing if not unpredictable, and even though she added to Chase’s pot on the side of Thirteen being fired before three tomorrow, she’s learned to hedge her bets. Don’t count the chickens and all that crap. Amber stares right back.

She isn’t the one who breaks contact. Thirteen looks away to shrug out of her lab coat. Amber considers this a small victory. “Why do you wear pearls?” Thirteen asks, and Amber jumps at the chance.

“I’ll tell you all over drinks. Anything you want to know.” Her fingers are crossed. “Let’s just get out of this place. I am so sick of the specter of House.”

Thirteen doesn’t even look up as she pushes out of the room. “What are you going to do when you get the job, then?”

Amber doesn’t hesitate. “Adapt. It’s the only way to survive this cruel world.”

“Does that mean you’ll be less of a bitch?” Thirteen calls over her shoulder, going into the locker room.

Amber waits until the door shuts.

“You have no idea,” she whispers, and goes to grab her coat.

*

Three hours later and they are playing quarters with twelve year old Glenlivet. Amber planned to insist on beer, but Thirteen only wanted to drink scotch. While more expensive, it would get her drunk faster. Amber agreed.

Since Amber went to undergrad in the midwest (where she was known as a bitch, of course), she is much better at the game than Thirteen, who says something about how this wasn’t usual behavior in California. Amber doesn’t buy it, since she knew Californians know how to party. Maybe she went to one of those small liberal arts fuddy-duddy schools. It would explain a lot. In all honesty, it really doesn’t matter how good Thirteen is at the game – Amber was always prepared to cheat. She’s just glad she not being forced to, since wasting a Glenlivet is practically a mortal sin. Especially at $18 a shot.

They sit for a while, bouncing quarters in silence. Amber has to admit scotch glasses are a lot easier to hit than the classic red plastic college cups of her youth. This makes it much easier for her to get Thirteen down a shitload of scotch – albeit good scotch.

“You have good accuracy,” Thirteen slurs. “I would have thought you would have been better with dollars.”

Amber is impressed she is still getting out full sentences, even if they don’t exactly make sense.

“I used to practice with dimes,” she admits. Thirteen groans. Amber puts a hand on her shoulder, and Thirteen leans into it.

“I think I need to go home.”

“My place is closer,” Amber offers. Thirteen laughs. “I might as well wear the same thing to get fired as I did to kill someone. Seems appropriate.”

And then they are in Amber’s car, and Thirteen’s hair is caught in loose tendrils around her eyes.

*

It’s all part of the plan, Amber tells herself. Thirteen is sucking Amber’s earlobe, her left hand snaking between Amber’s thighs. They are on Amber’s bed, Thirteen’s clothes left strewn between the front door and the bedroom. She has to pretend like she likes this, like she didn’t plan this, for her power over Thirteen to be complete.

Right? She really can’t think rationally with Thirteen’s rhythmic breathing so heavy in her ear. She shouldn’t be expected to. Everyone has limits.

Amber is straight. Really, she knows this. There was no experimenting in the Midwest, nothing while she was memorizing everything for med school. Her own sexual needs were always second, anyway. This was all just an way to screw with Thirteen. Turned out the only way to do that was to do it. Literally. And Amber would say that nothing beats a penis, but Thirteen is good at what she does. Really, really good.

Amber’s breath catches and Thirteen makes eye contact. “Just relax,” she whispers, and her breath smells like scotch and cherry chapstick. She’s surprisingly mobile and adept for being as drunk as Amber thought she was – but maybe Thirteen is pulling something on her. She tries to sit up, but Thirteen pushes her down, stopping any protestation with her mouth. Thirteen says, “You up for anything?” Thirteen’s fingertips are lightly circling Amber’s clit, and really, that’s not playing fair, but when has Amber ever played fair? She has to admit she’s finding a new found respect for Thirteen. And also that it’s been a damn long time since something other than her own hands or vibrator touched her clit. So she grits her teeth, and nods yes.

And then Thirteen is gone. The air on Amber’s naked body surprises her, and she gasps. Her nipples are hard and she hasn’t gotten off yet, and this isn’t what she meant when she said she was up for anything. Amber throws her head back in frustration.

“You really think I’d leave you like that?” Thirteen is standing on the side of her bed, scarves in her hands. “Don’t worry. It won’t hurt.” She looks like she might laugh again, but Amber is distracted by her breasts in the moonlight. Thirteen has a beautiful silhouette, like something out of a painting. She reaches out a hand to touch Thirteen’s pale skin, but Thirteen bats it away. “Just relax,” she says, and grabs Amber’s hand. She takes it and wraps one of Amber’s pale scarves around her wrist, and then starts to tie it to the bedpost.

“What are you doing?” Amber is a little nervous now, but she can’t really let on. Besides, she really wants Thirteen to touch her again. She’d do almost anything for that.

“Don’t trust me?” Thirteen says, without looking at her. “I know, I know, trust no one. But sometimes you have to let your guard down.”

“You should take your own advice,” Amber retorts, but allows herself to be tied up.

“Now,” Thirteen smiles, “The real fun can begin.”

And then her hair is dancing over Amber’s body, and she catches a faint whiff of berries. Her lips are traveling downward, and Amber’s thighs tighten in anticipation. “Relax,” Thirteen whispers against her skin.

“Easy for you to say,” Amber tries to retort, but it comes out breathy and not at all like herself.

“Shhhhhh,” Thirteen says, her breath now against her clit. Amber shuts up. Her toes curl up in pleasure, and Amber can hear herself start to make noises. She’s talking and she doesn’t know what she’s saying, except that it’s something along the lines of “yes, yes, fuck, yes”.

And then Thirteen stops and Amber strains against her restraints. “Don’t stop!” she pleads, and Thirteen’s lips are wet and she crawls up Amber’s body to kiss her. It’s the first time that Amber has tasted herself, and she’s surprised she isn’t gagging. She’s surprised that she’s thinking she could actually get used to this.

Fingertips pinching her nipples, breath against her skin, thighs between her thighs. Amber is getting close again, she can tell, and Thirteen seems to know it too. Her hand moves faster, three fingers, circles with her tongue on her clit.

Amber’s orgasm is swift and powerful. Thirteen grabs her hips and keeps licking her clit, while Amber squirms on the bed. “Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god,” she keeps repeating. Amber doesn’t want it to stop. Of course, it does.

“Been a while, huh?” Thirteen smiles.

Amber groans. “You have no idea.”

“Glad I could help.” Thirteen smiles, and disappears from the room. Amber assumes she’ll be right back, and settles into her bed, her wrists still tied, her body satisfied.

She falls asleep before she can wonder where Thirteen has gone.

*

Thirteen raises her eyebrows when Amber walks late into the office the next day.

“Sorry,” she says as she slips into her chair.

“Glad you could fit us in between your manicure and castration session,” House retorts.

Looking right at Thirteen, she says, “I was a little tied up this morning.” She watches Thirteen try not to laugh, and turns back to House. “It won’t happen again.”

“Heard it all before. Now, someone’s dying. Anyone care? I know Bitch here doesn’t, but surely one of you has some compassion for the poor sick soul who came to us for help, right? Don’t answer that, Big Love. We all know you love too much.”

And the day began.


End file.
